(Side Note: I remember getting into heated debates over what constituted “this” weekend and “last” weekend and “next” weekend with friends in college. These were the same prairie folks who called lunch “dinner.” I couldn’t take them seriously, really.)

So, anyway. My brother. He done got married to his love and a whole lot of extended family was here to participate in the affair. Some of them we haven’t seen in four years, and my kids were so small that they don’t remember that weekend. Some of them I haven’t seen since before I met Matthew and so they’d never met my family. And some of them were family that my kids know well, and love huge, and, oh. This whole weekend could be a book but even then I couldn’t capture everything. I’m running on fumes (mostly of the fresh cherry variety) and so I think the best way to even try to do this is to stick to a few highlights.

The wedding rehearsal on Friday was great. Afterward, I found myself at the local pub catching up with my Dad and his wife and aunts and an uncle I haven’t seen in forever and my brother and his wife. We went back to where my brother was staying and sat up with another brother and his girlfriend past midnight just catching up and, man. It was so great to get to know everyone again.

Saturday morning saw me nervous about taking wedding photos but if Lance and Natalie are anything (other than kooky), they are laid back. I snapped and I cajoled and I just did what I did. I had a few moments last night to download and backup the photos; I think it will all be OK. Some of you are eagerly anticipating wedding photos but it was a weekend full of family festivities. The photos will come, probably in a month or so.

My kids have two younger cousins, who belong to my oldest brother Chris. Chris is awesome and is one of my favorites. (See what I did there?) He taught me to drive (Which included me driving into a ditch and getting a front-end loader to pull us out). He first introduced me to U2, being the old(er) fart he is. He is wired a lot like I am and we’ve always had a connection. He’s a great Dad, as evidenced by his kids. Said kids spent all of their available time playing with my kids and I loved watching them hanging out together. Cousins rule.

The reception (or the “dance party” as Emily calls it) was so, so fun. There was the amazing food and the slide show of photos that made everybody cry, including Lance. There was a whole lot of dancing. Hours and hours of dancing. Emily got her Daddy to dance (that NEVER happens) and she spent the whole night working the dance floor. A group of Natalie’s friends asked Emily to “teach them her moves” and they followed her. She loves to dance, that girl. Matthew: “She really is your daughter.”

Graham was a bit of a dance fiend himself. He walked around the dance floor doing random dance moves and I’ve had no end of glee mimicking his white boy groove.

Nathan was more low key with his dance moves but he was working the floor as well. Also, hugging anyone who would let him do so. That guy and his zest for hugs is so rad.

Sunday afternoon saw my family meeting here after lunch and then heading on a wine tour. I had to stay home and work but I was caught up by the time they returned. We had burgers and pan fries, salads and buns, wine and beer, laughter and stories. The cousins ran around and played and us grown-ups tried to cram as much conversation in as we could. Because who knows when we’ll see each other again?

Time and distance aside, I love how that when we finally do get together, it’s like we never stopped. There is a Moran Clan pride and if you’re a Moran then you know what I’m talking about. We talk about our similarities and our quirks and what makes us “Morans.” We are family.

I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface of this weekend and I don’t have time to write that book. Instead, I’ll offer a few photos.

The entire family.

My dudes.

Reason #689 why I love my younger four siblings.

As you can see, Natalie fits in well.

They can be serious (ish), too.

More to come, soon. By “soon” I mean “when we are vacationing in Cannon Beach two weeks from now.”

I have eight brothers and sisters. Yes, eight. We do not all share the same mother, but we all share the same Dad. We (who were alive at the time) were all together in 1990 for our oldest brother Chris’s wedding.

I’m that sweet thang on the right rocking the floral, fugly dress, navy glasses and the Big Bangs. My brother Lance, next weekend’s groom, is the bald baby next to me on Chris’s lap. He’d really appreciate it if I didn’t mention that I used to wipe his bum. Whoops! I guess I kind of did.

The next time we were all in one place was Thanksgiving, 2007. All nine of siblings (and our families) made our way to Dad’s house for Thanksgiving. Here’s one of Dad and his minions.

Chris called a few nights ago and despite not talking for three (!) years, we picked up right where we left off. Dad keeps us filled in on the major details, of course, but it was so great to talk to Chris myself. I can’t wait to hug him, and others, and for my family to meet, well, my family.

As for that bald baby, soon to be a groom, I’m their wedding photographer. We finally did their “engagement” shoot last weekend and while I have a couple hundred of photos to go through, I think this one portrays them well.

Their wedding day is going to be so! much! fun!

My family may be spread across the country and we may not all talk daily (or annually) but we keep in touch the best that we can. Then, when we all get together, it’s like we’ve never been apart. We are family.

I entered a sweet photo contest (The prizes are INSANE) and all I need is your (Facebook) votes. I also have a chance over at Catherine’s site (as do you). The contest is only open to Canadians, but Americans can vote and a lot of you lovelies are from south of the border and if you could take ten seconds to click I would be so very thankful.

You guys rule – thanks in advance.

This past week has been hard. Hard for me, hard for Matthew, hard for the both of us. A lot of it has to do with that wretched point in time known as SEPTEMBER. After a summer filled with family vacations and solo excursions and trips to the beach we are suddenly smacked in the face with school and full-time employment (for the both of us) and extra-curricular activities (Ballet starts on Saturday. WHEEEEE!) and we haven’t hit our stride yet. We’re limping along and doing more tripping than walking and the thought of actually moving forward is but a dream.

I left work early yesterday because Matthew had a staff meeting and our regular babysitter is out of town and somebody had to pick the kids up from school. I got everybody home and situated with a snack and their favorite show (don’t judge me) and sat down to do some of my other work.

But then.

I remembered when I did that photo post inspired by the color red. I popped my 50mm lens on my camera and took fifteen minutes to look for the color blue. For blue is my favorite (red is a close second) and I needed a pick-me-up. This is what I found:

Faux “old-fashioned” tins that now serve as sandbox tools for scooping sand.

My watering can.

A window pendant that my friend Karen bought me; it hangs in my craft room window.

Whilst in the craft room, I took a shot of this blue tin that I use for storing ribbon.

This bath oil bottle is in the window of my en suite bathroom.

My friend Karen (same one) made this for me in a pottery class years ago.

My favorite pen to write with (I have all of the colors) (Brenda clued me into their existence.)

The quilt on my (king-sized, pillow-top) bed. It’s as amazing as it sounds.

I bought this bracelet on a whim last year and love it.

This necklace is my favorite.

I had seen it (amongst others) at a jewelry party and was torn. I brought home another. Matthew caught wind of another jewelry party close to Mother’s Day, brought the kids, and they picked out THE ONE I LOVED. We were meant to be together.

I may have one hundred things to do…but I will always have one hundred things to do. This was something that I did because I felt inspired and felt like “wasting” (Ha!) the time to go in search of blue.

The next time I start whining about being “blue”, tell me to grab my camera and go “waste some time”. It’s most likely what I need to do.

Except…I went into the weekend deciding not to accomplish much of anything at all. I set myself free from my normal self-inflicted drive to keep learning new things (photography-wise) and to document everything that we’re doing with a hundred photos a day and to try to work ahead on freelance stuff and to maybe finally organize my pantry. (That last one was a poor attempt at humor – the only thing that would “organize” my pantry is if I tossed a bomb in there.) I did bring home work work to do so that I can log shorter days in the office while Matthew is off hunting this week, but I spread my work over the weekend instead of wiping out an entire day all at once. Aside from that, I did a little bit of nothing and a little bit of everything.

Friday night, Matthew and I went on a much-anticipated date night. “Much anticipated” because it had been three weeks since the last one and we kind of like each other and enjoy spending time together without the kids around (even though we spend most of our time talking about said kids). We went to dinner at our favorite restaurant and then went to a few of our favorite stores in the mall. I scored a new sweater, a smoky blue dress and the most amazing black pants from the GAP. They’re magic pants.

Saturday was spent running errands and canning. Yes, canning. I’m one of those weirdos who likes canning. Correction. I’m one of those weirdos who likes to see all of the full jars lined up like little soldiers. I may or may not get a little testy during the preparation process, especially when my husband arrives home with THREE BUCKETS of apricots from our neighbor John’s house and apricots are not part of my normal canning rotation. I usually can (jar?) peaches, applesauce, antipasto, salsa and plum chutney. John’s wife usually does all of the canning but she’s no longer at home and, so. I put on a better attitude and decided to use half of the apricots to make chutney and the other half to make jam, so that I could give him a few jars (recipes here). Matthew kept the kids busy outside while I turned up the music and did my thing, so my grumbling was kept to a minimum. I may have even enjoyed myself. Shhh…

Sunday night included a dinner invitation for a crab feast in honor of a friend’s birthday. It had been a good, oh, NINE YEARS since I had crab and WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG? As a girl who grew up on the coast and had a steady diet of crab and prawns and trout salmon and many other forms of seafood, I was in my element. I was also closely guarding my butter dish. What?

A few hours before the dinner, I headed over to my friend Amanda’s house to take photos of her new baby girl Brinley. I kind of stepped back from photographing others due to reasons that I cannot share here, but I’ve been getting back into it recently. Amanda is one of my besties and she makes the cutest little girls and I just wanted to do this for her and Steve. It helps when you have such beautiful subjects.

Monday was a mixed bag of family snuggles (and naps!) in our bed and work and cleaning and bringing my fall clothes out of storage and running down the trail and s l o w l y working through the 673 photos I took of Brinley. I promise to get them all done before next year weekend. Here are a few of them:

It’s now Tuesday which means that I’m back at the office and that the dudes are back to school (photos to follow) and I’ll be solo parenting for a few days (while my husband is OUT OF CELL RANGE) starting tomorrow. When is the next long weekend again?

I may be wired differently than most. When people are rubber-necking at a fender-bender I ask, “Seriously? You are slowing down for this?” When people write blog posts that perpetuate others’ posts about all things Internet and go into the rabbit hole of drama in order to ride the wave of traffic/comments/whatever you are striving for in this audience of mere hundreds I cannot relate. I shut my browser and walk away. If you are talking about you, I’m in. If you are talking about whatever is “hot” right now, I can’t be bothered. No offense, just stating my interest. Or lack thereof.

My friend Jen wrote a post to the women of the Internet. She asked us to tell her something. I want to tell her something. I want to tell you something.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am generally a “happy” person. I love to laugh, and do so easily.

I am happy in my life, for the most part. I have a faith that gives me inner peace. I am married to someone who balances me perfectly. I have three kids who are more astounding than words could ever convey. I am the primary breadwinner against my will but I am in an environment that makes it doable. I have friends that make me wonder how I got to be surrounded by people so cool. Relationally, I am happy.

There is a different level of happy that has been (mostly) shoved down for almost two years now.

For many years I wanted to be creative but didn’t know how. I tried making wax candles, I tried needlepoint, I tried making handmade cards. While these creative venues are all fine and good I didn’t feel like I had come home until I found photography.

Get me a bunch of flowers (or people) and my camera and I feel happy.

I will sit down to edit the photos and will get lost in the processing of the colors and the levels and the sliders and before I know it hours have gone by.

I am not a patient person (at all. ever) but I will treat each photo independently and give it all of the attention that it needs until I am happy with it.

I spend the entire time with one of those half-smiles on my face.

I have been breaking out of my (editing) rut lately – experimenting with new techniques, trying different edits, learning more about Lightroom and Photoshop.

I don’t have a lot of extra hours in the day, no, but I’ve been eking out time whenever I can (Who needs sleep?) and have been feeling The Happy. I have some photography-related things in the works that have brought The Happy to the level where I have found myself bouncing in my chair. If I were Miss Emily, my arms would be flapping. OK, fine. I might have flapped for a moment or two – I couldn’t help it. Details to follow; I promise.

What makes you happy, friends?

One thing that I’m nor sure if I’ve mentioned here is that I used to be a runner. Please paint that last sentence in a sad song of remorse and regret and longing.

I took up running when we moved here in 2001 (Nine years ago and, also! More than a lifetime ago if you are one of my children). I had been doing step classes in Vancouver when we lived there and loved the workout I got from them. We moved to our wee town and at the time, there were no fitness classes to be found. I thought that I should maybe start running and my (Amazing!) husband bought me The Complete Book Of Running For Women. He trained with me, he encouraged me and once I was up to running 5K per day he…quit. He hates running. He did it for me.

I loved running. Foot to ground, steady rhythm, a clear mind. I use “loved” in the past tense because, alas, my knees (Patella femoral syndrome, surgery at the age of twenty, old fart-ed-ness) cannot seem to bear it anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried.

While running may no longer be an option, speed walking is still on the radar. Especially since the weather is getting warmer and the sun is shining and OH EM GEE I work only a few blocks from a beautiful lake.

This past week I indulged in a pair of “straight-leg” yoga pants because the ones I already owned left nothing (NOTHING) to the imagination. I also bought a hoodie to shield me from the North wind.

I thought I should take my big camera with me but a bag that size does not an effective power walk make. I decided to make do with my iPhone camera. Besides. I have a bunch of iPhone photography apps that I’ve never used – it would be a great excuse to finally try them out. I ended up using the Camera Bag app exclusively. Vahid made me download it when I was in Portland and I now see why he was so enamored.

I headed North towards the lake and found more graffiti/art along the way.

Aw, look at the sweet vandal apologizing to the other vandals.

I don’t know what this means but I’m sure it’s about peace, love and happiness.

Or not. Whatever. I can’t even draw stick men properly, so I’m appreciative of people who color outside the lines.

This one made me think of Emily.

What?

I’d totally sit here and eat my lunch but I may have to lay a blanket down first.

Oh, you would too.

One more for the road.

I’d like to meet this “Greg”. He appears to be highly regarded.

A mere block away I found myself at the Japanese gardens. I did not go into the gardens because (The walkway was under construction, and) I was on a mission. I did take a few photos of the artwork around the gardens.

There are Ogopogos? As in, PLURAL? “At lunch”? I’m never swimming in the lake again.

Then I saw this.

I just kind of love that one.

I carried along, arrived at the lake, and saw this group of sculptures.

I happen to love groups of three for some strange reason.

Oh, wait. The lake! You’d probably love to see the view and, lo! I took a photo. Shocking, I know.

Why, yes, I do know how lucky I am to live here.

I was wondering if I would see The Peach and then there she was.

She’s a concession stand that is put away for winter (Where, exactly, is one of the great mysteries of life) and comes out when the tourist spring/summer/season is upon us.

I kept trucking along and noticed a cherry tree that was blossoming.

Yes, Vancouverites, you had blossoms in February, but you all come here in the summer to experience a true summer, so.

The halfway point of my walk was the S.S. Sicamous.

She used to do tours of the lake until that unfortunate day where she got stuck in reverse and beached herself. I’m kidding. I think. I have no idea what the real story is because we’re too cheap to pay money for the tour.

After taking that photo I tucked my iPhone in my pocket and headed back to the office. I had an App track my progress for my walk and I think I did alright. 4.89 KM, 38 minutes, 296 calories burned.

I felt refreshed, invigorated and ready to tackle the afternoon. There were no downsides to the excursion other than the fact that I had only packed soup and veggies for lunch. Suffice it to say, I spent the better part of my afternoon dreaming of Sandwiches of Epic Proportions that might quell the unending hunger.

I’m just really happy, you guys. My hatred of winter is well-documented and my return to work has been an unending source of internal turmoil. But now? The sun is shining. My endorphins are exploding. I’m overworked and overbooked but I’m taking it all in stride.

If anyone dares bring up next Winter, there will be a flaming bag of poo on their doorstep in the near future.

Yes, they’re cute and yes, Emily’s precociousness slays me but SERIOUSLY. This is not the kind of photography that gets me excited.

The daylight hours are getting longer (Hooray!), the weather is getting warmer (I’ve been outside without a jacket) and I am starting to believe that spring is truly here. (With that statement, it will likely snow tomorrow. I’m sorry.) After feeling photographically constipated for so many months the thought of letting it loose (so to speak) has been both encouraging and frustrating. I am working six days a week right now, which means that my available daylight shooting hours occur on Sunday afternoons. No pressure. And no relief.

I have thought about carrying my camera bag along with me to capture the sunrise as I drive to work or to stop and take a shot of the lake on my drive home. To haul a purse, my lunch bag and a camera bag each and every day to the office is not only impractical, it’s a huge pain in the buttocks. I would throw my camera in my purse but I paid a lot of money for my baby; I need to take good care of her. I settled for having my point-and-shot in my purse which does an OK job, but it’s not what I know I could do with the “Big gun”.

So, yeah. Bunged up creatively, as it were.

Then, a few weeks ago, I saw photos of Karen with a camera bag that looked like a purse. It’s an Epiphanie Bag and as I’ve already side-blogged it, this has nothing to do with the contest they are hosting. I actually ordered mine before the contest started because I knew (I KNEW) that the ability to carry my camera in my purse, while keeping it protected, would set me free from the frustration I was feeling. And you know what? I was right.

Last Thursday, Ginger arrived. I transferred my purse contents and tucked my 7D safely in her belly. On my Friday lunch hour, I headed out to see the historic downtown that I work in in a new light. I was not looking for sales or snacks or used books to read. I was looking for things to capture.

I noticed that there was a lot of graffiti. Scratch that. There was a lot of art. I shot the ones that made me smile/think/happy.

I could throw in some cheesy cliche about how I am like a dormant flower who is emerging after winter but, HORK.

The only way to explain it is that I feel like me.

If you have a personal website, or a BLOG as it were, you have likely encountered some resistance from the people around you. Many do not understand this thing called Blog and are not sure what to make of it. Instead of just classifying it as another hobby, they want to judge you to a higher degree than is even remotely fair. Writing words on the Internet is WEIRD and AWFUL and makes you OPEN FOR JUDGMENT.

If your experience is anything like mine, then you have met someone in church, or at a playground, or at your kids’ school who tells you that they read your blog. You blush a little, say a “Thank You” and then hear words that are Passive-Aggressive at its best:

I don’t know how people have time to blog.

I always feel like I need to justify it, somehow, even if they are practically strangers. I don’t watch much TV. Daytime TV isn’t an option with the kids (or at all in my radar, actually) and there are only a few evening shows that we watch. Most of the ones we do watch, we watch with the kids. Once said kids are in bed, I like to sit at the computer and do what I do.

That never seems to appease them.

There isn’t much I can say. People are judgmental by nature. I personally have no idea how people can spend hours on Facebook and play games like Farmville or how people would want to go ice fishing (Honey) but, eh. To each their own. Or so you would think. It seems as though personal websites are something that people have deemed acceptable to attack.

For the most part, I have been able to brush it off. My family and close friends have no issue with my site. Not only that, they like it because it keeps them up to speed on what the heck is going on over here. I don’t know about you, but I find it far easier to sit down for twenty minutes and bang out a post that spend hours upon hours phoning everyone in my life in order to fill them in on the minutiae of our days. The added benefit is all of the friends I have made via my little corner of the Internet. I am blessed, indeed.

During the Christmas holidays, everyone comes back home to hang out with their families. One of our friends was in the Christmas Eve service. She is someone that we’ve known forever and whom usually comes over for a visit when she’s here. We generally suck at keeping in touch during the rest of the year and that’s OK. Christmas makes up for it.

When the service was over I made my way over to say hello. I put forth our usual apology for not keeping in touch as good as we could. Then, out of nowhere, came the questions.

I see via Facebook that you post, like, seventeen times a week.

Um, not really. It’s usually only two or three times a week.

Well, you also have your recipe site.

I haven’t posted there since last February. I created it four years ago it as a way to keep track of my recipes but have failed at keeping it up.

There’s your photography site as well.

It’s something else that I’ve let slide. I’ve shot a lot of things this year but haven’t had time to update it. I keep meaning to…

What about those other sites you write at?

Those are freelance jobs of mine. I love to write and as an added bonus, I’m getting paid to do so.

(TOTALLY FEELING UNDER FIRE, HERE.)

That “paying gig” deal seemed to appease her. Somewhat. Because getting paid for your hobbies makes them acceptable. Or something. I wished her a Merry Christmas and left the church with my family. Upon arriving home, I sent an email to tell her that her words had hurt me, and why. We had an open exchange and she apologized for how she came across. We’re all good. Open communication is where it’s at, folks.

So here I sit, inspired to lay it out for any of you reading who may be sitting there and wondering, “how I have time to blog.” The irony, here, is that you are reading these words I am typing. I’ll lob it back to you. How do you have time to read blogs?

It really is simple: You do what you love.

I, Angella, love to write. I love to take photos. I love a sense of community. All of these things (and more) come together in my little corner of the Internet. Those who comment here seem to get that. Others, sadly (for them) do not. They are quick to judge me by some standard that doesn’t even make sense.

If you love to bungee jump, or knit, or cycle, or perform taxidermy, or snowshoe, or go to Star Trek conventions, or do woodworking, or rebuild cars, or paint, or run, or bird-watch, or figure skate, or hunt, or belly-dance, or…one of the million other hobbies that exist on this great Earth, I applaud you. I may not understand it, or chose to try it, but I do not judge you for it.

I only ask that you pay me the same respect.

She still needs a name and I’m still figuring her out, but I foresee a long and happy life together.

Consider me inspired.

Also.

(Click on the photo to get the translation via Flickr.)

Consider me amused by my children, yet again.